Trust Me (Jennings Family #3)

Chapter 1

Cody

It’s not every day you see a beautiful pregnant woman standing on the welcome mat of The Moose Bar and Grill.

She reads the sign that says Seat Yourself and I watch her snag an empty booth in the corner.

Something inside me is telling me to go talk to her and it’s too strong of a feeling to ignore. I take one last sip of my beer and then look back over my shoulder at her. The waitress, Margie, is standing there, writing down her order. So I wait.

When Margie comes back behind the bar, her eyes wander to the girl once again before turning to me. The look speaks for itself. A random pregnant girl that no one knows doesn’t just stumble into this bar. Not in small town like Bellamy, North Dakota.

“She seems distraught,” Margie whispers. “Is Mason on duty tonight? She’s got something going on.”

“He’s off tonight. Should I go talk to her?” I set my beer down.

“Worth a shot.” She shrugs and walks away.

I leave my drink and slowly make my way over. My mom’s voice echoes in my head, telling me that I come across intimidating and that I should always remember that.

So I take a quick, deep breath and force my shoulders to loosen up.

“Hi,” I say when I reach the end of the table. “I’m Cody. Cody Jennings.”

She barely looks at me. “Karissa,” she mutters.

“Mind if I sit?”

Her brown eyes stare at me. “Do you know who I am or something?”

“No. Should I?

“Do you know a Devon Schmidt?” Her eyes are red and filled with exhaustion. She looks out the window beside her for a second, the neon sign in the window showcasing the dark circles embedded under eyes.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

She fixes her curly hair, pulling it around to frame her face.

“Where you from?” I ask while swiftly sliding into the cushioned bench seat across from her.

“Sioux Falls. South Dakota.”

“That’s a hike…”

“Eight hours. I’ve been driving all day.” She rubs her forehead and her chest heaves in a breath.

“Where you trying to go?”

“Canada,” she says. “He can’t get into Canada,” she mumbles.

“Who?”

She eyes me like I should know who she’s referring to and then looks away.

“Devon?” I guess.

Before she can respond, the sharp crack of a new game of pool echoes from the next room. She practically jumps out of her seat. Her hand flies to her stomach and she holds her breath for a second before exhaling.

“Alright, so maybe a bar isn’t the best place for you to be?” I let out a small laugh.

She shakes her head and pulls her coat around her body tighter, like she’s on the brink of a complete breakdown.

I clear my throat. “Tell me what’s going on. What’s your story? What happened?”

Theres a hesitance in her eyes, like there’s no way she’ll do that. Can’t blame her.

“I know you don’t know me but…trust me?” I suggest.

“No.” Her voice is shaking and a tear streaks slowly down her face.

Damn it. Tears and me, we’re like oil and water.

“I’d like to help you, but I need you to tell me what’s going on first.” My voice is harder than I intended.

She holds her head in her hands, crying louder.

This bar is too bare for it not to turn some heads.

Margie gives me a death stare from behind the counter and I sit back against the booth and cross my arms. I just asked her what was going on…

I didn’t think it was a terrible question. Clearly, I was wrong.

Margie makes her way over with her drink in hand.

“Here you are, sweetie.” She sets it down in front of Karissa, her eyes moving from her to me, and then she just leaves.

Leaving me here to solve this by myself, I suppose.

One more word out of my mouth and I’m afraid I’ll scare her right out of here.

“My phone died a half hour ago. I don’t know where I am, I’m so tired, I…” Karissa trails off.

Sucking in a breath, I force myself to speak more calmly and gently this time. “You’re in Bellamy, North Dakota. I live here with my whole family. We run a guide service.”

“What is that?” She sniffles.

“Hunting. We take people out to shoot waterfowl. Ducks, geese.”

“Oh.”

“But my youngest brother’s a cop—Mason. Maybe he could help you?”

“I don’t need help. I just need to buy a phone charger and get gas,” she clarifies, sounding confident.

“Well, you’re kinda S-O-L. Gas station down the road is closed and so is the store.”

“Seriously?”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Her shoulders fall as if she’s never felt more defeated in her whole life.

“What’s so special about Canada?” I ask.

“My ex can’t get into Canada with his record.” She tucks her hair back, and that’s when I notice bruising on the side of her neck.

My entire body stiffens, my gut twisting as heat spreads up the back of my neck. My jaw clenches so tight my molars ache, and a fire settles in my chest.

“This the same guy who’s leaving those marks on you?”

Her eyes fall. “That’s why I left,” she mutters.

I want to punch a hole in the wall. Because this is no longer a simple girl-got-turned-around-and-wound-up-here kind of thing. Now it’s a girl-is-running-for-her-life-and-has-nowhere-to-go situation.

“Well, he’s not gonna find you here,” I tell her.

“I hope not,” she says on an exhale.

Margie interrupts again, this time placing a plate of food in front of Karissa. I watch her unroll the silverware and dunk the spoon into the tomato soup.

A few silent seconds pass before I speak. “So, do you have a passport?”

“Yeah. What do you think…I’m gonna sneak in? With this belly?” She lets out a small laugh, drawing my attention down to her protruding stomach.

“No, but just because you can cross the border doesn’t mean you can stay.”

“Why not?” She squints.

“Because you live here. You’re a US citizen. You can visit Canada, but if you want to stay longer than they allow—or have the baby there and try to live there—you’d need a visa or residency status. Otherwise, you’re technically an illegal immigrant.”

Her face blanks like I just obliterated her entire plan.

“Well, can I get that while I’m there?”

“I mean…” I rub a hand over the back of my head. “It’s not impossible. But it’s a long process. Expensive. Complicated. Especially if you’re doing it alone…and pregnant. I don’t even wanna know what you’d end up paying just to have the baby there.”

She drops her spoon with a clink and sighs. “Well, I only have, like, a thousand dollars.”

“Yeah…absolutely not. You’re screwed.” I laugh before I can stop myself. “Sorry, that was mean.”

“You can leave now,” she mutters, biting into her sandwich as fresh tears pool in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. Sometimes I don’t have a filter.”

“Gathered that.” She huffs and takes another bite.

I know what the right thing to do here is. I know I have to help her. I’ll never stop wondering where she ended up or if she got captured by the frickin’ border police.

“Tell you what,” I say finally. “You come home with me, where you can shower, sleep, charge your phone, and get your bearings straight.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I have to keep going. I won’t be able to sleep until I’m across the border.”

“Did you not hear me?” I snap. “They will throw your ass in jail.”

“No they won’t…” Her tone tells me she knows it’s not true but wishes it was.

“Your ex—the piece of shit—is not going to find you here. I live in the middle of nowhere.” My voice is low and confident.

“And what if he does?” she counters.

I lean back, letting out a quiet, amused laugh, and cross my arms.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” I say with a grin, locking my eyes on hers. “That guy wouldn’t have a prayer stepping foot on our property.”

She thinks for a second. “But you don’t even know me.”

I shrug. “I don’t have to know you.”

She looks back down to her plate, eyeing the grilled cheese, then adjusting herself in her seat before reaching for the sandwich again.

“When are you due?” I ask, hoping the question is acceptable and there’s no fight or tears to follow.

“June.”

“Okay, so you’re not gonna, like…give birth on my couch or anything, then?”

She laughs as she shakes her head. Seeing her do something other than cry or argue with me is relieving.

“Perfect. I’ll be around; take your time.” I scoot out of the booth and step outside to call Mason.

He answers on the second ring, groggy and annoyed. “Cody. I just worked a double. You better have a damn good—”

“What would a tracker look like on a car?” I cut him off.

There’s a pause and rustling. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I asked.”

He sighs, voice sharper now. “Usually black. They’re small. Magnetic, under the bumper, behind the license plate, or by the wheel wells.”

“Thanks.” I hang up before he can finish another word and crouch beside her car.

I run my hands along the bumper, behind the plate, near the tires. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. No blinking lights. Just dirt, rust, and a little road grime.

I stand up and look around. The streets are dead, as usual.

I head back in and pay my tab, and hers, before I sit back down with her.

She swallows her last bite, her hand naturally drifting to her belly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.” My voice is firm, final.

She swallows. “Okay.”

She looks over to Margie, raising her hand slightly for the check.

“I already paid.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “Why?”

“Because twelve dollars isn’t going to send me into a financial crisis.”

“Well, I’m going to pay you back,” she assures me.

“Good luck with that,” I state, and watch her roll her eyes before she strategically gets out of the booth.

I slide out too, giving her a bit of space. Just a half-step back, enough not to crowd her. I don’t reach out to help, even though I want to. Mason told me once you never touch someone who’s been physically assaulted unless they ask. I never thought I’d have to use that advice, but here I am.

We walk toward the door and catch Margie’s eye on the way out. She gives me a nod; no words needed.

Karissa doesn’t say much as we cross the parking lot to my truck. I suggested we come get her car tomorrow, especially if she needs gas.

I toss her bag in the back and open the door for her. Given that the running boards are just about at her waist, I end up having to help her up and in.

Once we’re on the road, silence settles between us, but it’s not uncomfortable.

I drive slowly, hands steady on the wheel, throwing glances her way every now and then to make sure she’s okay. She’s staring out the window like she’s trying to memorize every turn, just in case she needs to retrace her steps. I hate that.

“There’s no way he’s gonna find you here. I promise you’re safe; you can trust me,” I assure her.

She doesn’t answer verbally. She just nods and presses her hand against her stomach again, like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to walk away from everything you’ve ever known, carrying a child with all that fear inside you. To not know where exactly you’re headed, only knowing you have to leave.

Out of all the roads she could’ve taken, she ended up here, with me. And I know it wasn’t just coincidence…God’s got His hand in this. Big time.

And I don’t take that lightly.